


sleeping arrangements

by armethaumaturgy



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, love the dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 04:51:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12226125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: She hums, the sound reverberating through her chest. Almost like seeing Sorey with his mouth hanging open just the tiniest bit, snoring, is the catalyst to her own tiredness taking over, her eyelids flutter closed. Rose doesn’t even notice when the voices from down the hall get hushed and replaced by pleasant and dark silence of slumber.“Oh, they’re out,” Mikleo notes, poking Sorey’s shoulder only to be met with a low groan and nothing else.





	sleeping arrangements

The sun has long set, letting the outside be consumed by the nightly darkness, clear skies letting the moon shine bright even low on the horizon. It has been a long day, made even longer by incessant fighting and endless walking.

But, finally, the inn stands before them, in all its half-shoddy glory that looks like the very best, luxurious palace to Sorey’s tired eyes, as well as his legs, even though he can’t see with them. In moments like these, he feels he can.

But where he expects quiet and hushed conversations from the adjutant bar when he opens the front door, there is loud cursing and an argument brewing in the hallway instead. Rose momentarily looks that way with curiosity, before scoffing and muttering quietly about drunken idiots.

The reception is empty and, when Sorey follows the line of Rose’s drooping eyes, he spies the innkeeper trying to hush down a man, irritation obvious in the way his brow is creased.

Fatigue weighs heavy at him and Sorey thinks he probably couldn’t even lift his sword anymore. The bench by the reception desk is empty, so he carries himself over there, practically slumping onto it. His back finds the wall to be the perfect backing.

Rose yawns, shoulders downtrodden as she lightly sways on the balls of her feet. “Scoot,” she mumbles to Sorey, who, while still only listening with half an ear has the heart to move and make room for her. The redhead does the same thing he had done, flopping down with a small sigh and slumping against the cool wall.

“How long do you think they’ll be at it?” Rose asks, watching the argument with disinterest. When she receives no answer, she looks over to Sorey, barely turning her head, and finds him fast asleep, head lolling to the side at an angle that looks more painful than not.

She hums, the sound reverberating through her chest. Almost like seeing Sorey with his mouth hanging open just the tiniest bit, snoring, is the catalyst to her own tiredness taking over, her eyelids flutter closed. Rose doesn’t even notice when the voices from down the hall get hushed and replaced by pleasant and dark silence of slumber.

“Oh, they’re out,” Mikleo notes, poking Sorey’s shoulder only to be met with a low groan and nothing else.

“They shouldn’t be sleeping here,” comes Dezel’s voice. He looks just about as grumpy as ever, but Mikleo doesn’t blame him. They’re all pretty exhausted.

“Well, look! The argument seems to have been taken care of,” Lailah says, pointing to the hall. The innkeeper is making his way back to the desk — finally.

Dezel and Mikleo move almost simultaneously; Mikleo’s hand reaches out to poke Sorey’s shoulder again, and again and again, insistently. “Wake up, Sorey, you can sleep better in the room,” he coos, but Sorey refuses to be awoken, simply curling further into his own side and grumbling something unintelligible. Dezel goes about it similarly, shaking Rose to get her back up. And unlike with Sorey, it actually works on her.

“Dezel?” she groans sleepily when she finally gets her eyes to open and take in the face before her. Dezel’s features are soft as he looms over her, not letting go of her hand and instead pulling her up.

“Come on, Rose, we gotta get to the room.”

“We gotta get  _the room_  first,” Edna pipes up, rolling her eyes at both the humans.

“Sorey… Sorey…!” Mikleo keeps calling out and it seems to finally work, just as he spies Edna reaching out with the umbrella to poke at the Shepherd’s side. Mikleo shuffles a little to get in her way, not because it wouldn’t work, but because there’s no need. Sorey’s eyelids flutter and he whispers a plea for ‘five more minutes…’

All Mikleo can do is chuckle to himself, even as he slings an arm beneath Sorey’s armpit. “Yes, but in a bit. You with me? Come on, up we go.”

A few more instructions and a few praises later, Mikleo has Sorey upright, still mostly asleep but willing to follow him into the room. Which Rose goes to pay for, dropping her wallet not once, but twice in the process. No one would believe that she’s an assassin in this state; even Dezel has troubles recognizing her, though that has no impact on how much he enjoys the lull of her voice as she speaks to the innkeeper.

The man spots Sorey behind her only when passing forward the key into her (barely) outstretched hand. He stammers, spewing apologies left and right for making them wait, his tone so high pitched suddenly that Rose tunes it out completely, following Dezel’s back as he ascends the stairs in a few long strides.

Sorey has to be led by Mikleo, who has to warn him of every single step and practically yank him up. He would, if it weren’t for the innkeeper’s hawk-like stare boring into their backs. Sorey already has enough rumors going around about him, no need to add to them.

Their room is at the end of the hall, much to Mikleo’s chagrin. Sorey leans on him heavily, feet stumbling over one another as he mumbles something into the crook of the shorter man’s neck.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re almost there, then you can sleep properly,” Mikleo sighs, but his words seem to placate whatever Sorey had wanted, because he stops mumbling and just nuzzles his neck.

The room is cozy, with two beds, wardrobe and a table, but not much else except a bowl of fruit sitting on it, escaping everyone’s eyes even with the prettiest of vines.

Rose plops herself onto one of the beds, digging into her bag for a spare shirt. Dezel locks the door after Mikleo pulls Sorey’s lax body inside. When he turns from it, Rose is changing her shirt, right then and there, sitting on the neatly folded covers.

“Rose!” he calls out, alarmed. Her eyes drift up to him and she pauses in folding the other shirt (even though she’d just been bunching it up more than anything, really). “That’s inadequate, Rose,” Dezel continues when she shows no signs of shame or even understanding. “You’re a lady!”

She shrugs in response and worms her way under the blanket, leaving the Seraph to all but sigh, shaking his head. Lailah chuckles from one side of the room and even he can’t help but crack a smile at the redhead’s antics.

On the other side of the room, Mikleo drags Sorey into bed, completely oblivious to any clothes-changing in the room as he fights to pull the edge of the blanket from underneath Sorey’s butt to cover him. It’s a fruitless battle, especially when Sorey’s long arms wrap around his neck and pull him down halfway across himself.

“Sorey, let go,” he huffs, halfheartedly prying at Sorey’s grip. He can’t complain all that much when the warmth Sorey radiates is comforting and nice.

The Shepherd mumbles something resembling a ‘no, don’t wanna,’ as he grips the Seraph closer still. Mikleo tries once more, but when it appears he won’t have any luck, he relaxes into the hold, resting his head on the other’s chest. The steady heartbeat and familiar presence is more than enough to coax him to rest, eyelids growing heavier by the second.

The others fade into their place within Sorey, all save for Dezel, who lingers just a moment longer, tucking the blanket around Rose so she wouldn’t kick it off during her sleep.

Mikleo catches his soft smile when he glances over, Dezel’s body dissolving into green sparkles and a gust of air, before he’s finally consumed by the land of dreams. But what he doesn’t catch in his exhaustion is the one mirroring it — on his own lips.

**Author's Note:**

> this was a commissioned work


End file.
